


The wreath I might have won

by randomdestielfangirl



Series: Tumblr gift fics [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Post-Break Up, Unhappy Ending, breaking up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdestielfangirl/pseuds/randomdestielfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite hearing them in his head countless times, despite telling himself over and over again that this was inevitable, it had still <i>hurt</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The wreath I might have won

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for the lovely [cocklesbringitout](http://cocklesbringitout.tumblr.com/). Not beta-read, so excuse stray errors that might have crept in.
> 
> Title from Lewis Carroll's Faces in the Fire.

31st October 2011

The alarm blared, reverberating loudly across the room. Misha groaned as he struggled to get his eyes to open, his throat dry and his head pounding. It took him a minute to recall where he was, and another to stumble out of bed and into the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach. He lay against the cool porcelain for a while, retching at the taste of bile in his mouth.

Water. He needed water.

He staggered to the sink and gulped some water down from the tap, wetting his hair in the process. He stumbled back into the room after a minute, falling back on to the bed in a boneless heap. One of the lamps was missing, and there was a tiny crack on the white plaster flower in the corner of the ceiling. He stared hypnotized at the crack for a while, while fractured memories of yesterday’s nightmare of a convention came to him. Darius had left last night, after dumping Misha in his room. He vaguely remembered his friend hauling him on to the mattress and laying him out on his side, and taking off his shoes.

He reached for his phone. There were over a dozen missed calls and messages, and a couple of voicemails. Misha groaned as he looked through them, catching Vicki’s name and hitting dial.

“Hey, how did it go?” his wife’s gentle voice came across the line, West screaming in the background.

“Ummm” he said, “Not great. What’s wrong with Westie? Can I talk to him?”

“Doesn’t want his breakfast” Vicki said, calling out to their son “West? You want to talk to Daddy?”

The screaming stopped momentarily, and an excited young voice yelled _Daddy_ into the phone, causing Misha to wince slightly, but break into his first real smile all weekend. West seemed uninterested in talking though, just babbling for half a minute before he dropped the phone with a crash.

“Sorry about that, I don’t think he’s in the mood really” Vicki said, sounding a little frazzled.

“I miss you two so much” Misha said, his voice in a whisper.

There’s a pause, and a vehement _No_ from West in the background. Misha heard the TV turn on, and silence settle as his son calmed down.

“What’s wrong?” Vicki asked him.

“I just” Misha sighed, “I was pretty out of it throughout. And I... don’t think I behaved very well. Certainly caused that poor handler a lot of stress”

There was a pause, and he barreled on.

“I didn't..”

“You didn’t think it would hurt this much” Vicki said, her voice sympathetic.

“... No”

He didn’t, not really. The fling with Jensen was just supposed to be that, a fling. He had been powerfully attracted to him the moment he set eyes on him, and they had fallen into an easy relationship almost instantaneously. They had never talked about it, but it was implicit that it was just a temporary thing. They were great in bed together, the conversation was light and easy, and they had hardly ever fought. Except for the last time.

He knew he had a tendency to fall in love with people he slept with on a regular basis, but he honestly didn’t expect any danger here. Jensen was not the sort of person he went for normally. Though undeniably good looking, he was shy, reserved and took himself a little too seriously.

“Why won’t you just call him?” Vicki asked him, her tone steady and gentle.

“I can’t. You know I can’t. I don’t blame him, yeah he overreacted when he saw my tweet, but we both knew it was temporary. I’m out of the show; it was going to peter out anyway”

“Not necessarily. You’ll still keep attending conventions, still keep seeing him. I’m not saying you need to get back together with him, just... clear the air”

“Ugh” Misha said, closing his eyes “I’m never sleeping with a co-worker again”

Vicki laughed, and then winced audibly as a huge crash erupted, followed by West’s giggles.

“I have to go, he’s launched the cereal bowl off the high chair”

“I love you” Misha grinned as she hung up.

He tossed his phone aside, not in the mood to see who else had called. If Jensen had.

+

It was a long time coming, their fight. Misha had been resentful about Castiel’s rather unceremonious killing off, and he had tried to keep away Jensen’s inevitable breakup speech away by detaching a little himself over the last few months. He’d ignored calls and messages, and had been light and casual when they met on set, keeping conversation impersonal and spending more time with a confused Jared. And Jensen had seemed moodier than usual, snapping and snarling at every little thing, and in general being very difficult to be around.

Despite everything, they had continued to sleep together, but Misha never stayed long after, preferring to go back to his room instead of cuddling. Every single time it happened, he promised himself he’d end it the next time, before Jensen could. And every time, Jensen only had to look at him for his defenses to crumble, and they’d be tearing each other’s clothes off, aggressively making love so they didn’t have to talk.

It came to a head during the convention at Chicago, when Misha had drunk a little more than usual. Jensen was pretty buzzed too, and for once there was that easy camaraderie that had always been between them. He remembered sneakily taking a picture of Jensen’s eye, before posting it on twitter with a slightly suggestive joke. He was just about to show it to Jensen so they could laugh at the reactions when the other man had kissed him, slow and gentle and so filled with affection that all coherent thought had fled Misha’s head.

It was one of the best nights they had ever had, and as he collapsed on to Jensen’s damp chest afterwards, the other man tightened his arms around him.

“Don’t go” Jensen had said, voice deeper than usual, “Stay, for tonight. Please”

Misha had looked up, throat dry.

“I won’t” he had said, pressing a light kiss to Jensen’s lips and smiling at him.

Jensen’s green eyes had lit up with pleasure, and Misha had known then that he was in deep, too deep to escape.

All hell had broken loose afterwards. Jared kept calling until they reluctantly disengaged themselves to go to his room for a wrestling match, and Misha struggled to keep the headache and constant nausea at bay. He had had a mere hour of sleep in his room afterwards before Jensen stormed in, enraged at the twitter picture that Misha had put up the night before.

Misha had been too annoyed and tired and in pain to really soothe him like he always did. Jensen had yelled, he had yelled back and it had been ugly and awful but repairable till Jensen finally said what he’d been dreading he’d hear for months.

“I want to call this off”

Despite hearing them in his head countless times, despite telling himself over and over again that this as inevitable, it had still _hurt_. Misha had reeled back like he’d been slapped, but it took him only a second to regain his composure. He had looked calmly at Jensen, his heart pounding in his ears and said quietly.

“I think that’s for the best”

For a flash he thought he saw Jensen’s face crumple, and Misha had been on the verge of throwing his arms around him and begging him to not end it. He had taken a hesitant step forward, but Jensen had stepped back, his face hard and unyielding.

“Fuck you” Jensen had said, before spinning around and leaving, slamming Misha’s door behind him.

“Fuck you too” he had said, collapsing back into a chair, the tears taking him by surprise.

+

It had been a blur since then. He had been almost permanently drunk, going through panels like a robot. He didn’t even remember half of what he said over the weekend. 

The phone rang. He let it ring, burying his head in the covers. This couldn’t go on. Vicki was right, he had more panels to attend, even a solo one with Jensen in Italy. 

He reached for his phone.

They needed to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending, but this is my theory of the great Cockles breakup. Some of the things I referred to in the story are-
> 
> 1\. [The 'shirtless' picture tweet.](https://twitter.com/mishacollins/status/127613096830308352)  
> 2\. [Misha being drunk and 'difficult to handle' during Asylum 7.](http://camui-zuuki.livejournal.com/160403.html)
> 
> I am planning to continue this, so don't fear!


End file.
